Rick Pitino has been known to bend the truth at times and is considered by many (primarily those living in and around Lexington, Kentucky) to be the "King of Spin."

So when he wrote the book entitled, "Success is a Choice," of course he was lying, and Mrs. Sypher wants the record to be set straight.

Success isn't always a choice, because sometimes in life you have to dress trashy, have sex with married men, and then through your own cunning wit gain riches and truly become successful.

Thus arises the age-old question: Does one become a money-hungry, lying tramp, or is one born that way?

It's the age-old question that has puzzled college basketball fans for nearly two decades.

Why in the world did Pitino allow Grant Hill to run the baseline unguarded when he threw that baseball pass to Christian Laettner?

Sure, Gimel Martinez sucked, but he was big and could have at least managed to run the baseline. What about Aminu Timberlake—was he too traumatized from Laettner putting the boots to his chest to do the job?

And while you're at it, Mrs. Sypher, ask why he didn't have Deron Feldhaus front Laettner instead of playing behind him, not even trying to deny the pass.

You would think after a man gave you the most heartbreaking loss of your career, the last thing you would do is move next door to him.

After all, Pitino can't even walk outside to get the paper without that arrogant Dukie reliving his moment of glory at 7 a.m.

Of all the gated communities in the world, why would Coach Pitino put himself though the indignity of moving next door to that jerk?

After all, I saw it in a Vitamin Water commercial, and like most of the rumors printed on fact here at B/R, if it's in the electronic media, it has to be true!

No coach is as stylish as Rick Pitino with his custom-made $5,000 suits and silk Zegna ties.

The man wreaks of bespoke (that's a fancy word for custom-made clothing, y'all).

So why in the world did his Kentucky teams wear some of the most God-awful-looking uniforms in college basketball history?

For starters, there were those monstrosities with the zigzag-looking patterns that UK wore in the mid-'90s.

Then there was the classic look of the denim uniforms his Wildcats wore during their 1996 National Championship season.

And you thought that jorts were only for rednecks and wannabe rappers.

Jared Swopshire sucks. Just ask almost any Louisville fan, and they will be quick to tell you that he's just downright awful.

On almost any Louisville message board you will find threads after every game complaining about why Swopshire even bothered to dress for the game, much less play.

I can appreciate Mrs. Sypher wanting to hold Pitino accountable for playing this stiff whose only redeeming quality is that he could be Barack Obama's body double.

After all, if 10,000 Louisville fans are smart enough to question a future Hall-of-Fame coach about Pitino's substitution patterns, then why shouldn't a future felon be given the same right?

I can sympathize with Mrs. Sypher for making this demand, because since 2004 I've wondered the same thing myself.

Pitino always claims that the defense looks like a zone but plays like a man, and the other team thinks it's a zone until they find out it's a man defense.

If you're going to play a man defense, then play a man defense, rather than a zone defense that looks like a man defense.

That is, unless you really want the other team to think you're not playing a man defense when you're really playing a zone, which is really a man.

Man, now I'm confused—does anybody have any Motrin???

What middle-aged extortionist didn't want to be one of the pretty and popular girls on campus?

The Ladybirds are not only lovely young ladies but are also one of the elite competition dance teams in the nation. Girls want to be them, and guys want to be with them.

Figuring Pitino must have some type of pull within the group (I'm sure you can find a thread on a Kentucky Wildcats message board saying he's impregnated every member of the squad), she must have figured what the heck when thinking up this one.

After all, is there a better way for an aspiring cougar to get in good with some Hollister-wearing frat boys than to slap some spandex on and shake what her crazy-eyed mama gave her?

There can't be any better feeling than sitting under the twin spires at Churchill Downs or looking at the rolling meadows of Keeneland and seeing a horse with your name running a Grade One stakes race.

"Crazybroadfromhell" would certainly fit Mrs. Sypher to a tee, and the beautiful animal in full stride would have to make her proud as she watched her horse cross the finish line.

What a beautiful end to such a beautiful attempted felony.